


Something Good

by leviathans_moon



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviathans_moon/pseuds/leviathans_moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe the solution to not feeling lonely anymore is going to the one person that shouldn't like you anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Good

**Author's Note:**

> This addresses Blaine's (to me) apparent depression and is my reaction fic to 4x04. I apologize for the angst, but considering 4x04 it's impossible to write either him or Kurt happy at the moment. I'm willing to give out virtual hugs and tissues.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kurt didn’t answer his messages, didn’t pick up the phone when he tried calling.

_Kurt doesn’t have time for you._

He felt like throwing up every time he thought that.

When he hit the boxing sack on those days he imagined himself to be someone else taking out their anger on him, his fingers feeling raw from the continuous contact but not broken enough.

He would stop at some point - whenever ‘ _this is pointless_ ’ shot through his head –, take a hot shower and go to bed without going to check whether his parents were home or not. It felt like he hadn’t seen them for weeks. He probably hadn’t.

Falling asleep was a chore, as was getting up. He dreaded another day arriving.

It was habit driving by Kurt’s house on his way to school. During the first week he’d stopped waiting in front of it until he was almost too late for school, now it was just a detour that reminded him of his mistake.  
He sat in school, did the exercises, did his homework when he had a free period and barely talked to anyone. He sang a lot; top 40 songs mostly, loud and meaningless and pretentious fun. He practiced for Grease, pushing himself into the foreground; loud and _obnoxious_ as Jake had put it.

 

It didn’t matter.

 

Three weeks after New York, he got a message from Rachel reminding him to put in his NYADA application. The boxing sack didn’t suffer much, unlike his hands, but he knew if he had let himself, he would have trashed his room.

 

Kurt still wasn’t talking to him.

 

And apart from Finn, no one had asked him _why_.

 

He went to visit Dalton, although he wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. They were happy to see him and for a few minutes he thought he was genuinely happy to see them too. By the time they asked about Kurt, however, his smile was fake and he had a hard time paying attention to them.

He lied, saying that Kurt was doing fine, that he loved New York. He also said that he’d been out there once already, but when they asked how New York was he only managed to give them a half-hearted amazing. He hadn’t really paid attention to New York.

They sang a song together and their new Captain, Hunter, tried to convince Blaine to come back to Dalton; Blaine politely refused and left.

That night he yelled at his father for the first time. It was over the phone and seemed to have the effect of a fly landing on a wave, but for Blaine the feeling of euphoria carried him to the first good night’s sleep in weeks.

 

He was expecting to get the lead solo for sectionals, but it was Marley who got the honor. Blaine got his usual small solo-rap-part in the big group number. He did a semi-shrug that no one saw and thought _of course._

It wasn’t until three glee practices later that one of Jake’s snide remarks landed him a punch from Blaine. Everyone looked on with shocked faces as Blaine fought off an angry Jake and Mr Schuester tried his best to pull them apart. As far as Blaine was concerned, he’d won.

 

It didn’t matter.

 

Mr Schuester made him apologize and he did. Jake and he worked well together in pretending that they were friendly.

Sam was on his side, more or less. He didn’t get why Blaine had punched Jake, but he assured Blaine he would be fighting at his side should it ever come to an epic showdown in the parking lot. Blaine reminded him that Jake was Puckerman’s brother and Sam’s ‘oh’ was the last that was said on that subject.

 

Kurt still hadn’t called him back.

 

Whenever Blaine thought about the fact that Finn was around town and school to know about everything he did, he spent a sleepless night worrying what Kurt thought about him now. It twisted his gut and most of his early mornings passed with long one-sided conversations with the toilet seat. He’d even thought about giving it a name, but figured it was stupid and it wasn’t like it really mattered. Just another name to add to the list.

He started singing less and less songs. Sam asked him to sing with him, but after three attempts even he stopped asking. Instead he sang with Brittany and Blaine thought he should have seen that one coming.

Ms Pillsbury invited him into his office once, smiling at him just the way she had when he’d sat there with Kurt.

“Are you alright, Blaine?”

For a second he thought about talking to her, but in the end he felt nauseous again and with a ‘yes, I’m fine’ he was out of her office. She wasn’t the one he wanted to talk to and her office made it too obvious.

 

Kurt didn’t pick up his phone.

 

Blaine didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t have if it’d been him. There was nothing left to talk about and he wasn’t worth being talked to.

He fell asleep on the floor that night and woke up at 3 a.m. His parents weren’t there so he took the car and just drove.

He missed school that day and had a message from Mr. Schuester telling him what they’d done that day, but nothing else. He didn’t mind that they assumed he was simply knocked out with a cold or something.

 

He didn’t join the party at Artie’s house after their win at sectionals. It was too much - pretending to have as much fun as the others. There had been texts from Rachel and Kurt congratulating them on their win; Finn had read them out in their changing room. No one had checked to see his reaction. No one would miss him at the party.

It was easy to lie to Artie about not feeling well to his stomach; it wasn’t even really a lie. Artie promised to keep some of the cake for him till Monday; Blaine nodded and left.

 

He broke his boxing sack that night and ended up smashing every plate they had on the clean yellow kitchen walls. The sounds echoed around the house like the screams he couldn’t utter.

 

He drove around all night. Eventually, he ended up in front of Kurt’s house.

 

He stood in front of it, hands buried in his jacket pockets. He was breathing heavily, his stomach clenching with nerves. The cold November sun shone on his back as he wondered ‘why’. He hadn’t slept at all and the cut on his left foot from the shards he’d stepped on the night before was itching.

His phone bleeped with a new message for him and it scared him out of his nervous reverie. His eyes flitted to the door bell again, but his hands remained in his pockets, not moving to check who’d written him. He turned away from the house and stumbled down the steps.

“Blaine!”

Burt Hummel stood in the doorway with folded arms and Blaine turned only halfway, his entire body shying away from that man. The urge to run away fought heavily with the urge to stay.

“Kurt’s not here.”

Blaine scratched the back of his head, taking the end of the jacket with him as he still hid his hands. “I..I know..I..”

Burt disentangled himself from the doorframe and took a few steps closer. Blaine’s body stiffened.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you, sir.”

“Stop with the sir, Blaine. I might be inclined to think you deserve a beating round the head, but neither am I now nor will I ever again be ‘sir’, is that clear?” Burt was standing in front of him now, looking down at him with a scrutiny he wished his own father had. “I hate it when you call me ‘sir’.”

Burt watched him in silence for a while and Blaine tried to drown out the thoughts about what Burt would see in him. He shouldn’t have come, he should have just-

“What’s up?”

It seemed so leisurely concerned that it hurt and Blaine shied away from the offered hand of comfort, twisting his arms and body without ever taking out his hands. His pockets felt safe.

“I don’t know… what I’m doing here.”

“Blaine. I’m sure you actually do. So talk to me.” Blaine had always admired how forceful yet understanding Burt could sound; somehow he always seemed to know that he just needed to punch it out of you, give his two cents and everything would be okay again.

“I..I think there’s something wrong with me, like really wrong.” Blaine didn’t look at Burt, not until a hand came up to his shoulder and gently pushed him towards the house.

“What do you mean?” he asked as they passed the threshold and Burt closed the door.

Blaine shrugged and almost brushed it all aside again. It was Burt, though. Burt, who always seemed to know what to say; Burt, who was currently pushing him into a kitchen chair. “Tell me, kiddo.”

Blaine took a deep breath, wondering whether he’d somehow expected this treatment and that that was the reason he was feeling just a little bit lighter already. He twisted his hands.

“Like… like my parents need a new kitchen now because I trashed it last night.” There was a pause and Blaine cringed at how Burt’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “I mean, why would I do that?”

“You don’t know?”

He shrugged again and immediately regretted it.

“Why, Blaine?”

He wanted to run, because Burt wasn’t just asking why his parents’ kitchen was destroyed. He was asking so much more.

“Because no one cares.” It was barely a whisper, but Burt still reeled back a bit from the force of it. Blaine took a deep and shaky breath, not sure whether he’d just shed a cloak or plunged into an even darker hole.

“Kiddo, what-? People care.”

“Do they?” Blaine looked out the window, trying to hide from the scrutiny; trying to hide from having to admit how he feels. He’d never been very good at that.

“Blaine, I’m only going to ask this once and then never talk about it again. Is that why you cheated on my son? Because you thought he didn’t care?”

Blaine started shaking his head. “There’s no excuse.”

“Was it?” Burt persisted and when he forced Blaine to look at him by way of touching his arm, Blaine nodded.

“But it doesn’t mean th-“

“Stop right there.” Burt sounded harsh again and Blaine’s eyes flitted back to the window. “I don’t condone what you did, and for a moment out on the porch I thought about throwing stuff at your head, but I’m the first one to admit that I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. So don’t beat yourself up about it, it happened and now you and Kurt have to find a way to get through it; at least as friends.”

Blaine lowered his eyes and fiddled with the cuffs of his cardigan.

“Kurt isn’t talking to you, is he?”

A shake of the head and Blaine had to fight the tears.

“How long?”

“Since New York.”

“No, I mean, how long have you been… I don’t know, um-“

“Depressed?”

It had only hit him this morning when he’d stood on that bridge and looked over the highway. The cars racing past them had seemed strangely familiar.

“I was going for ‘feeling alone’, but do you think you are?”

He thought back to the bridge at six in the morning after a sleepless night. “I stood on this bridge before I came here – no, I didn’t…I don’t think I wanted to, you know… not that. I don’t think I could.”

Burt relaxed again, though the worry remained on his face. “Okay.”

“But, it’s like, Mr. Schue once said that we should think about things we’d want to experience in the future, things we’d want to be there for. I couldn’t think of any, nothing that mattered.”

“Your friends?” Burt said it like it was so easy.

“They’re Kurt’s friends.”

“Then make them yours as well, Blaine,” insisted Burt, his voice echoing in Blaine’s mind, trying to reflect how stupid Blaine was. He didn’t answer, but looked out of the window.

“Again: how long? Because if you tell me it’s since New York, I’m going to have to talk to my kid.”

“No,” said Blaine, looking at Burt in all honesty. “Since before I even met Kurt. He made it better.”

“So, two years? Three years?”

He thought he knew when it had started but there were so many things he wasn’t sure of anymore. “Maybe.”

Burt got up from his chair and grabbed Blaine by the shoulders. “Come on, get up. I can listen to you, yes, but I can’t deal with this the way it should be dealt with, so we’re going to the hospital, talk to Carol, see if she knows somebody; yes, a shrink. Blaine, look at me!”

Burt placed a hand at the back of Blaine’s neck. “I’m sorry to say this, but I think you need to talk to somebody; properly talk. And I’m going to help you do that, but I’m not the right person to talk to.”

When Blaine answered with a slight nod, Burt pulled him into a hug, giving Blaine a chance to cling to something good.

“ Come on, get in the car. I’ll go get my jacket.”

Blaine took the keys from him, attempting something resembling a smile before going outside.

 

 

Burt walked up the stairs and stopped as he reached the top. His son was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall.

“You wanna come with us?”

“No.”

Burt sighed. “Kurt, I know you’re hurting and this must be incredibly painful, but you are going to have to talk to him at some point.”

“I know, but not now. Not yet.”

Burt leaned down to place a hand on Kurt’s shoulder.

“I need more time to think.”

“Okay.” Another squeeze and Burt let go. His footsteps sounded heavy as he walked down the stairs.

“Dad?” Kurt’s head poked around the corner. To Burt he looked like that small 8-year-old who’d just lost his mother. “Thank you.”

 

 

When Burt entered the car, Blaine didn’t comment on the fact that he wasn’t wearing a jacket.  



End file.
